Ruby Red
by Littleblondesoprano
Summary: Ruby was a woman of standing, and still is, though, when everything changes and crumbles down around her, (not to mention the mockery of her by others) how will she deal with it? And when the unthinkable becomes reality, will she take the easy way out, or tough it along? ((I am so terribly sorry, I cannot write summaries))


I was told the day I was born the sun hid beneath a blanket of clouds and wept of absolute joy, and that is why the sky was not blue, but it was an ashen color, and the sun's tears fell down upon the earth, helping mother's petunia bushes and father's grape vines grow. When I was first born, my hair, I was told, was the color of a blooming rose in the midst of a dew-ridden Spring-however, this talk was only polite. They scrubbed my hair with special soap for days, weeks, even, but to no avail of ridding it of such a...distainful color-red. It was, and still is, a dark, unnatural color-it was blamed on my mother for eating peppers brought from Spain. However, none in the public said a word, they knew, if they did, father would have their head on a pike before they could finish their sentence. It was quite reassuring for my self-esteem.

Growing up was not always an easy task-and, even now, I am not finished growing. No one truly is; growing is learning, and vice versa, and no one, not even a barn owl, finishes growing. Anyways, there were many people father could keep quiet: children, were not some of those people. I grew up in many different places, England, Africa, Egypt, India, and even a trip to Spain; and, to be truthful, children everywhere were the exact same, however, they used different words, but their behavoirs were unchanged. In England, by the children, I was referred to as a 'posh lobser' whilst in Africa I was called a 'Mtoto Vampire' which, I later learned meant 'child vampire'. In Egypt they whispered of a 'devil whisperer', in India the children chanted 'Girl Flame' and in Spain I was shouted at by the nickname of 'Ella Diablo' which means 'She Devil'. Whilst father took unneeded mercy upon these foul children, he did not spare their parents for a moment-and that, is how I got my beautiful ruby.

It belonged to the mother of a Swahili child who called me a particularly nasty name, the child's father was a miner, and mined gold in a hole deep underground, but, apparently, he smuggled a ruby the size of my fist away from the site and brought it home for his wife, who had it laden in a golden necklace; but she hid it, for fear someone would steal it. Which, rightfully she was scared of that inevitable end! Father took the ruby from the dead woman's hands and set it in a fantastical necklace of pure gold and shining diamonds; when he gave it to me, why, I'll never forget the sensation. Something with that wreched color, that wreched ruby color, was actually beautiful, and priceless! Something people would fight and die over-and it was mine.

I wore the necklace proudly, everywhere I went! And then, especially since we moved to France. "Do you want these roses inside, ma'am?" Bucky, my manservant asked me; he'd taken our luggage off of the carraige and held it at his sides. He was covered from head to foot in sweat, for, not only was it one of the hottest days of the summer, in Paris, he wore a long sleeve, pea green, button down shirt and matching trousers that bagged at his waist-the only reason they still held up was by way of a beaten, black belt. His normally poofy, black hair laid flat and stringy against his temple and forehead, his eyelids drooped over his hazel irises and his normally flush lips dipped down with an ashen pink color on his fair skin. I bet he thanked god in that heat that it was required, if you worked for my family, to be clean shaven!

"You know you need not call me that unless anyone is around," said I, glancing up from the magizine I held; I sat on a newly installed porch swing Bucky put together, and the wind whispered oh-so gently through the air, cooling me and Bucky down.

"I know...but...it don't feel right callin' you anythin' else in public." He protested, holding the pot of roses close to his chest.

"And, why ever so not? You seemed perfectly fine moaning it in the carnival tent in England-"

"Yeah, well...that's because I knew that it was safe! I knew that nobody would find us there! But now..." He paused, looking quickly about him, as if he were anxious of being caught talking to me in such a casual manner. "Now, I don't know nothin'. New country, new things, I don't know much, and it don't make me feel safe 'bout...ya know...us." He replied in a hurried whisper.

"Do you see me panicking? No, you do not, which means there is no fear of being caught. Come now, sit. Take a few moments to relax." Said I, patting the seat beside me, and he, reluctantly, placed the pot of roses in front of me, sitting down beside me.

In his hand, covered in sweat, grime and dirt, he took my own and brought it to those beautifully ashen lips, and he placed only the most delicate of kisses to it, like he was scared if he kissed me any harder that I would turn to dust before him. He was always so gentle with me, which, I greatly loved! He also had a profound fondness for my hair; he called it the last light before the sun set, or, the color of the most fruitful apple upon the tree. He would braid it for me before the day began, but, he said the best place where he liked to see it was pressed out, upon his pillow whilst my face contorted in pleasure-however, that is another story, for another time.

Again and again he kissed my hand, finally letting it be back to me. "You're just as beautiful as the day I first caught sight 'o 'ya." Said he, his eyes glazing over in a dream-like state.

"And you, just as deliciously handsome" I smiled, giving a quick kiss to his nose. He smiled and reclined on the swinging couch, closing his eyes. Though, just as he began to fall into a light slumber, I heard the quick smacks on the floor, they sounded like high heels! I gasped and quickly smacked his arm; he jolted to a start and I shoved him up. "Someone's coming!" I hissed, and he, sleepily, picked up the flower pot, just as my mother stepped from our new home, to the 'porch'. She gave a shining smile, a smile that could win over even the most distainful of men, and caught sight of Bucky.

"Oh, my goodness! Bucky, you're positively raggid!" She cried, taking the pot from him and setting it down, back to where he had. "Go on inside and have Pearl make you a drink before you faint of exhaustion! Then, off to the bath with you!"

She called, helping him inside before returning to the heat of the outisde world, where I had again taken up the adventures of Sherlock Holmes in the Strand Magizine. She sighed and walked over to me, gathering her skirts before sitting down. "Why do you sit outside, Magdalen? There comes only a slight breeze, and you will positively burn, especially in _that_ corset." Said she, her dark hair outlining her face; emphasizing her alabaster skin and large, dark eyes that offered nurturing-to the right people, of course. One could also say, if they were on her bad side, that they offered nothing but only the harshest of nightmares and a silence as dead and quiet as the grave.

"It is quiet, and I can think." I explained, averting my gaze back to my magizine, though, I knew she was giving me 'the look'. That look where she knows you did something, or that you know something, and she's trying to squeeze it out of you. I swallowed hard, but, she leaned forwards, she could sense my nervousness!

"You're already set to marry someone, Magdalen, in four years, don't you stray from this path, or you will no longer be counted as part of this family." She hissed, and, after a few moments of tense silence, left me to my lonesome. I sighed in releif that she was gone, and looked to the threshold to see Bucky peeking out from inside the house. I waved him away and stood, I needed to get away! But to where? To the coach of the carriage I hurried, and I tapped his leg.

"Monsieur, where is a good place to get away? To get away from everything, if only for an hour?" I asked quickly, fearful if mother should return. The man tapped his chin before gasping.

"The Opera Garnier, Mademoiselle."

"Take me there!" I cried, without skipping a beat, and, inside I jumped, quickly closing the door, and, as we began to pull away, I saw Bucky run after the carraige.

_**(A/N)**_

_**Wow! Hi everyone! I know it's been a long hiatus, but, I'm back! And, with a new Phanfic! (Don't worry, things will pick up soon, I promise!) I apologize if it was a little scatter brained at first, I'm trying to get back in the swing of things! Please review and tell me how I'm doing! :D**_


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